


2017

by Books_Tea_Fandoms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, London, New Year's Eve, Sherlock-the-party-pooper Holmes, Sherlolly - Freeform, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_Tea_Fandoms/pseuds/Books_Tea_Fandoms
Summary: Sherlock at Molly get caught up by the Thames, opposite London Eye, where everything happens to be a bit crazy for New Year's.Inspired somewhat by the actual 2016-17 transition in that place.





	

"There are too many people here. I want to leave. This is boring me."  
"Boring you? How can it be boring you? Look at all the people you can read and jump to conclusions about." Sherlock shot Molly a look when she said this, but she didn't acknowledge it. He'd made another biting conclusion like one he'd made at a Christmas party a few years back- how long ago was it now? He hadn't meant to: he'd gotten better with the brain-to-mouth filter recently, but he had the occasional fault, and all of these slips seemed to hit Molly quite hard.  
The crowd thickened as they reached the riverbank.  
"Idiot! How on earth could I forget?"  
"Maybe you were too up your own-"  
"Molly, stop. I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean it."  
"Well-"  
"I didn't mean it in the way it came across. And for that, I am truly sorry."  
"That's better." She looked over at him, and he gave her a smile.  
"TEN- NINE- EIGHT-" The crowd around them started to yell. Sherlock huffed. Molly joined in. "SEVEN- SIX- FIVE- FOUR- THREE- TWO- ONE!" There was a lot of screaming, accompanied by the occasional "Happy New Year!" but only when it was intelligible from the sheer chaos of all of the shouting.  
Then- fireworks. Sherlock watched Molly's face light up as the first blasts from the fireworks, accompanied perfectly by the music blaring out from the speakers that were securely fastened wherever they could be. He watched her face for a little longer, glad that she was finally enjoying herself on this otherwise disastrous New Year.  
The party had been awful, for him at least. Most people got blind drunk before eleven, but Sherlock had moped in the corner mostly because of the sharp rebuff that Molly had given him for what he had said to her. He was loath to remember it, but it involved him making snarky comments about her current relationship status, which he intended more as a friendly encouragement for her to get out and mingle more, instead of spending all of her time helping him. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, he knew he'd said the wrong thing, perhaps not from an innate moral compass, but more from the change in expression on Molly's face. Her first question was if he knew what he'd said, and when he'd stuttered, she'd given him a proper talking to, which, in all honesty, he'd zoned out of slightly after the first ten seconds. It was probably why he kept making the same mistakes with her over and over again.  
He scanned the crowd for scanning's sake, but also because the frequency of terrorist attacks in celebratory periods in populous cities had increased almost exponentially recently, and he didn't necessarily trust the thousands of police who were around to take down these people. He noticed nothing suspicious at all: everyone in his area of sight was looking at the fireworks, albeit most of them through phone screens. That saddened him greatly. Not only had these people truly forgotten what it is to be in the moment, they were also offloading onto their phones, meaning that the psychological necessity for memory was being diminished. These people were literally damaging their capabilities because of technological dependence. (In the back of his mind, he added the Bowie reference to the tally he'd been keeping of tributes to fallen icons.) He kept scanning the crowd, keeping half an eye on Molly to make sure she was still having a good time.  
"Everyone get your phones out! Torches on! You know what's coming next!" He heard someone's voice shouting through the speaker. Everyone did as they were told. Sherlock criticised their inability to question the situation before acting, and also cursed himself for not realising that the fireworks had finished after the Two Ronnies reference (which he had, however, remembered to add to his tally). He watched as everyone started waving their phone torches in time with Auld Lang Syne, some more successfully than others. He felt a tug on his coat.  
"Are you enjoying it?"  
"Not really."  
"Come on! Get into the spirit of it a bit!"  
"I can't. Everyone's trampling on the tradition of the arm-crossing."  
"We can't stay stuck in tradition forever. The nice ones stick."  
"The arm-crossing is nice. It's not harming anyone, and-"  
"Let's not get into a debate about this now. I'd do anything to hear you sing." The drumbeat came in, marking the second, and final, time. Sherlock huffed: this recording was not traditional either.  
"I'm not going to sing." Molly placed a hand on his chest.  
"Come on."  
"I'm not going to sing." Molly stared at him in silence until the song had finished. She had an expression on her face that Sherlock could not quite read. Cheers rose up around them, but somehow, they were in a little bubble of perfect tranquility, unaffected by their surroundings.  
"Tradition, right?" She asked.  
"Yes, what about it?"  
"You wouldn't mind?"  
"Mind what?"  
"A little tradition." She smiled briefly. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. Molly let out a delicate laugh, and wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his coat, pulling Sherlock down to her, and to her lips. At first, Sherlock didn't know how to react, but almost immediately, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her deeper. They moved in perfect rhythm with one another. She placed her hands either side of her face, sliding up gently into his curls. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, deepening the kiss yet more. They broke apart only with need for breath, and stood, nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead, their breath steaming in front of them.  
"Happy New Year, Sherlock."  
"Happy New Year, Molly Hooper."


End file.
